Waiting for the fire department (Richonne, post s 5)
by chiaroscurosmuse
Summary: Life in Alexandria is not perfect, but it's better than being on the move constantly. Rick has time to contemplate his own situation on a relatively uneventful run for supplies, but when walkers show up and his weapons are out of reach, who will save him?
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: Back so soon? Why, yes, I am! So I actually didn't realize how fun it would be to write my own fanfiction-especially since I've been enjoying reading others' work so much. And maybe it's like, I don't know, bingewatching your favorite show or bingereading your favorite ship, except you're bingewriting? Hmmm. Well anyway lovelies, I'm disclaiming right here and right now: I only wrote the story...the characters belong to AMC and their creators, and all that jazz. I wanted to write this one because I feel that Rick and Michonne are wonderful together for all the reasons, but I felt like the build-up just wasn't there in the show, and they deserve a more solid burn to make their relationship believable. Maybe it gets better post season 6? (Don't spoil it for me, I haven't watched season 7 yet!) Hope you enjoy, and comments are _golden_! Just sayin'.**

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Rick stepped into the glade. Funny, how magical the world seemed when most of the human population was dead, or rather, undead. Blades of grass glinted in the mid morning sun. The shimmering air was slightly warm and gnats swarmed giddily. Small-game animals, grown wary of the recent hunting sprees, seemed to be in hiding. Rick sighed, happy to be roaming. He ran careless fingers through unruly brown curls and then scratched his beard, thinking it was time for a little trim again. Maybe Jessie could help him out when he got back from this run.

Things were not easy in Alexandria, but they were better. Rick couldn't help but still think how utterly stupid the Alexandrians were, how unprepared for inevitable human attackers. How naive they were, in their imagined haven. True, the walls were stronger than most. But even the prison had been breached, and it had decent fences. Until the herd got too strong. Until the Governor and his lackeys decided to storm the gates, all for a little piece of safety, in the name of selfishness and survival. Darwin was right, and it only took a zombie apocalypse to prove it.

Rick snapped out of his thoughts when he heard some rustling along the edge of the forest around the glade. He could see, over to the north end, a place where there was a break in the trees, an opening into a meadow. But slightly blocking his view of the opening was a sturdy tree. It appeared to be quite old-old enough to maybe have been planted before Rick was born. Its branches fanned out regally, its crown full and uninhibited by neighbors. One lower branch bore the scars of a tire swing's ropes-the tire was long gone, perhaps salvaged for some other use by the new nomads of this walker age. As Rick approached the tree, he could see the nuts hanging low-it was a pecan.

Food. Rick dropped his pack in the shorter grass under the tree and began to collect the windfall. Some of the nuts had broken open; picking through them for good ones, he immediately began to fill his belly. Feeling thirsty after the richness of his meal, Rick grabbed the water bottle from inside the bag and drank slowly, Adam's apple bobbing with the fullness of his swallows. Again he sighed at the simple pleasure of the moment. He wondered why it took a series of catastrophic events to make him see what really mattered.

Dutifully checking his surroundings, Rick thought he could afford himself a short nap leaning against the tree. He faced the forest, rifle on his lap, knife within easy reach by his thigh. Just fifteen minutes, he promised, as he allowed his eyes to droop.

Rick couldn't remember falling asleep, but the next thing he knew, he was startling awake. He heard someone calling his name, but in his drowsy disorientation, he couldn't remember whose voice it was.

"Rick! They're coming!"

It was Michonne. She broke through the trees, a gazelle in flight, the herd of walkers only a few feet behind. Rick at once jumped to his feet, no longer sleepy, all adrenaline. Without thinking, he began picking off the walkers with military precision. Who would have thought he'd have become such a sharp-shooter? During his days as a sheriff, he was lucky if he could return a perfect score at the firing range on a really good day. But now he was knocking them down easily, heads bursting, wasting no bullets.

"Behind you, Rick! Watch out!" Before he could fully react, Rick was backed into the tree by ten walkers, all reaching for him. Somehow, they had come from the meadow. They were too close for him to shoot, and his knife was on the ground. In an uncharacteristic momentary panic, Rick did the first thing that came into his head. He reached above his head for the lowest branch of the tree, the one scarred by ropes, and hoisted himself up.

The walkers clawed at the branch, trying to reach for Rick's toes. He climbed higher still, his amazement at the tree's perfection drowning the fear he felt only seconds before. Branch after branch, Rick made his way to the upper canopy. The tree was even more majestic from this vantagepoint-Rick peered through the foliage to see the meadow beyond the glade. The sun was beating down pretty hard, but the tree provided comfortable shade. The sound of the walkers was softer up here, a little rustling of the leaves below, the dropping of pecans agitated from their home. He could see Michonne approaching the tree cautiously. He smiled and waved at her.

She rolled her eyes at him and drew her katana, moving stealthily toward the murmuring walkers. Although he could no longer see her from his place, he could hear the steely keening of the sword as it cleaved the air and then the walkers' skulls. She had an economy of movement and strikes at which he couldn't help but marvel. Rick smiled, imagining the serious look of concentration as she dispatched each of the ten zombies. The soft thumps of their bodies as they fell like cut blades of grass was satisfying.

Rick moved laterally now, to the side of the tree where Michonne stood, presumably cleaning her weapon of the walkers' ichor. Funny, he could no longer really smell the death that followed them around. Sure, on the rare occasion in which they had to anoint themselves with the walkers' entrails and bodily fluids, he could definitely smell that. But he had grown so accustomed to the heaviness of that deathly odor that he rarely noticed it anymore. But he could smell Michonne.

The breeze blew her scent to him-she was salty and sweaty with exertion. Their sparse scavenger diet had changed over the last few weeks while they were in Alexandria, but somehow, unlike everyone else's, the smell of Michonne's body managed to remain the same: slightly sweaty, with a hint of baking soda. How she was able to find Arm & Hammer at this juncture, Rick wasn't sure. Sometimes, if they found wilding peppermint or stalks of french lavender in an overgrown yard, she would pick bunches and stuff them in her pack to dry in the sun later. She'd crumble them up and mix them with baking soda and a little of her precious tub of coconut oil. And she'd smell fresh in spite of herself. And in spite of himself, Rick loved that smell. It got to the point where he'd take the long way around the neighborhood during the day just to meet up with her as she patrolled so he could take in the normalcy of that perfume.

He snapped out of his reverie. This was happening a lot lately, in quieter moments, Rick's thoughts would drift to Michonne. He found it strange, but he let it keep happening like it was the most natural thing in the world. Sometimes, however, he'd stop and ponder further. Michonne was so utterly different from Lori and Jessie, the two women who had held his gaze for more than a moment. Lori, of course, was always his, until she wasn't. And Jessie, well, she was a conquest-someone he had to prove to himself that he could still save from a totally different kind of monster. Rick was regretful in those moments. Of course, he should protect someone like Jessie; that was his job, for chrissakes. But when he thought about that feeling he got in the pit of his stomach when he looked at her, well, he was ashamed about that.

"Rick." Michonne was under the tree now, looking up, trying to glimpse him through the thick branches. "I took care of them all, you plannin' on comin' down now?" She stood quietly. Idle chatter was still sometimes difficult for her. Maybe her economy was not just of movement, but of existence. Her words were as sparse as her will to survive was strong.

"I guess I could make my way down," he drawled, "But I don't know-the branches might break, I'm a little nervous." Rick chuckled and picked some pecans, dropping them down in an attempt to tease Michonne, to lighten the moment.

Somewhat carelessly he found footholds on lower branches, slipping once or twice. Each time, his heart jumped, and he remembered what it was like to be living, not just alive in a world full of death. Rick wondered what other kinds of things would make him feel more alive. What would he have to do to pull himself farther away from the time after Lori's death, when he couldn't seem to hold on to reality? From the time shortly after arriving in Alexandria when he showed his true colors and ranted at the residents for their naivety?

He could see Michonne now, leaning against the tree trunk, picking the meat out of a fallen pecan. She put it to her mouth, full dark lips with just a hint of pink. She chewed silently, her eyes closed. Perhaps she was ruminating, just as he did, on the simplicity of the moment. The image would have been perfect, if not for the decapitated walkers at her feet.

"Takin' you long enough to get your ass down here." She placed another pecan half on her tongue. She looked off toward the meadow. "Do you think we can find anything out there?" She asked as if there were some other question on her mind, a question much more meaningful.

"I don't know, Michonne. But I do know that I might just be stuck in this tree forever with the squirrels if you don't take this bag of pecans from me." Rick lowered a bag full to the brim with nuts. "Carol will be thrilled," he deadpanned, rolling his eyes for her benefit.

"Well, maybe I should leave you there and let Daryl come and save you from the squirrels. At least then we'd have some dinner, too." Michonne returned dryly. She took the long way around the tree. Rick followed her with his eyes, allowing himself the guilty pleasure of taking in everything about her, from her dreadlocked hair to her lithe but well-muscled frame. She moved silently, shafts of sunlight striping her dark skin and clothes. In that moment, Rick had to admit to himself that he found her beautiful.

Suddenly, she was directly underneath him again. She grabbed the bag and slung it over her shoulder.

"Come on, sheriff. Time's a-wastin'. Or do I need to call the fire department?" Michonne kept walking in the direction from which they had both come, toward the forest and the road just on the other side.

"No ma'am, I'll be along presently," Rick sassed. He grabbed his rifle, knife and pack. He looked back at the tree once her made it to the edge of the forest. Maybe he'd bring Michonne back there one day when they had time. He could take her to the top and show her the view of the world as it should be.


	2. Chapter 2

Carol was not going to cook that evening. In fact, she had specifically told Rick that there would be none of her famously delicious mystery casserole or choco-bean cookies for a few days-she was taking a much needed rest and spending it with Judith and Daryl. And so it was up to Rick and Michonne to pick up the slack.

Michonne had never considered herself a cook. Even in her life pre-apocalypse she had excelled at prepping, but not at the actually pan-to-the-fire work. Chopping, peeling, prepping the ingredients? Well, hand her a recipe and she'd get 'er done for the chef to do his or her magic. No wonder she felt comfortable with the katana. Her knife skills in the kitchen (although of a different nature) were stellar.

Not surprisingly, Rick was lacking in the cooking department as well. But out of consideration for Michonne's clear discomfort at the idea of firing up the stove, he decided that he would take the brunt of the responsibility. He went to the food pantry, collected the appropriate rations, and got to thinking about what he could make. A small but persistent voice somewhere in the back of his mind told him that he'd have to do a bang-up job to prove his worth to Michonne (and Carl, of course).

And so it was that around five thirty, Rick was puttering around the kitchen, searching for various tools and spices, his main ingredients neatly organized on the counter. Powdered eggs, powdered milk, wild onions, canned asparagus, and a bag of gluten free chickpea flour. _Just add water_ , thought Rick wryly. He was going to try his hand at making an asparagus and onion omelet with some chickpea pancakes. _Ambitious is my middle name._

Everything was going to plan. Carol had salt and pepper as well as some canola oil in the kitchen pantry. There was drinking water in the carafe. The asparagus was drained and rinsed, and the onions chopped finely. Rick had even found a ruffled apron in the drawer and donned it for effect. Humming to himself, he got to work.

"What 'cha making, dad?" Carl broke Rick's concentration with his question. Rick almost dropped the bag of chickpea flour, but recovered quickly, setting it carefully on the counter.

"You'll see. You wanna help?" He handed Carl the hand towel and motioned to the sink. Carl washed up and then stood at attention. Rick passed Carl a bowl and whisk. He spied Michonne out of the corner of his eye. She was sitting, feet up on the couch with a book. Perhaps a smile played on her lips, Rick wasn't sure. But he saw her turn the page, so he redirected his attention to the job at hand.

"Man, I wish that Daryl caught a rabbit today." Carl looked over at Rick as he beat the egg powder with water. "That would be so much better than powdered eggs." He stopped beating and added, hastily, "But I'm thankful that we have food to eat."

Rick nodded. He understood. Living in Alexandria had given them access to a much better selection, rationed and limited in variety as it was. It was way better than going without food because they couldn't find any scavenging.

The batter for the pancakes was ready, although it looked a little thin. But Rick smiled to himself anyways. This was working out as planned. He lit the gas burner and dropped some oil into the pan. He poured some batter in and swirled the pan like he had seen Lori do back when she used to cook for them and he still cared to watch. The pancake cooked quickly-Rick could see the bubbles burst on top, so he knew it was time to flip. He tried to dislodge the cake from the pan, but with little success. Rick could smell roasted chickpeas and frantically removed the pan from the fire. _Damn it. Well, that's only the first._

Meanwhile, Carl had finished seasoning the eggs, and with a nod from Rick, heated up the other burner to make the omelet. The oil quickly developed a smoky sheen. "Hey, turn the gas down Carl," Rick ordered with a frown. Carl nodded, twisting the knob. But it was too little, too late. Just as Carl was about to add the eggs, flames exploded from the pan.

"Get back!" At that moment, a few things happened simultaneously. Carl jumped away from the stove. Rick reached for the lid of the pan. Carl tripped over Rick's foot. And Rick, in an attempt to regain balance, knocked the carafe of water into the fire.

Now things could have gone further south from there, if it were not for Michonne's preternaturally quick brain and feet. The whole stove was engulfed in flames and exploding oil, Carl was on the floor, and Rick was waving his arms, looking around for a fire extinguisher. The bowl containing the pancake batter had been unceremoniously knocked into the sink. But Michonne had tossed her book to the floor, grabbed the blanket covering her feet, and threw it over the stove, effectively depriving it of oxygen. The smell of toasted wool filled the air along with burned eggs and chickpeas.

Rick groaned. He looked at Michonne. She looked back at him, mouth serious, but brown eyes twinkling.

"Don't say it. Don't. Say. It." Rick's mouth was a thin line, almost hidden by his facial hair.

Michonne turned away, rounded the kitchen island, and picked up her book from the floor. Sighing, she took her place on the sofa, facing away from the debacle that would be dinner.

"If you keep this up, one of these days, I'm gonna haf'ta call the fire department on you, sheriff." Rick could hear the almost inaudible snort of laughter escape her pursed lips. Leave it to Michonne to see the humor in the situation.

"Watch it, woman. You might not get any dinner tonight," Rick countered, unable to stop himself from smiling.

"From the looks of it, neither are you." Michonne stretched and turned to face the two in the kitchen. They looked a little wild, and not a little hungry. "Is that asparagus I see?" In a few long strides, she returned to the kitchen, grabbed a fork from the cutlery drawer, and captured a spear. Gazing unwaveringly into Rick's eyes, she put the limp vegetable into her mouth and chewed with her eyes closed. "I _love_ asparagus," she breathed, "but you guys don't, right?" She glanced at the both of them, wide eyed. "So I can eat this all by myself, right?" She held the bowl tightly to her chest.

"Come on, Michonne," Carl whined, "I'm _hungry_!" He reached for the bowl, which Michonne playfully pulled away. Rick wiped his hands on the ruffled apron and made his way around the island. He grabbed Michonne's hand before she could get the fork to her mouth a second time.

For a second Rick stopped dead in his tracks, arm frozen, hand around Michonne's waist. Lavender and peppermint filled his nostrils. Before he could sink any further into her comforting aura, he pulled the fork away. "Give the kid a bite, okay? He's _starving_." Rick stuck the asparagus spear into his own mouth. Michonne burst out laughing while Carl scowled.

Michonne handed the bowl over to Carl and Rick gave him the fork. Grumbling, Carl sat at the kitchen table and scarfed down the remainder of the vegetable. Rick and Michonne glanced at the disaster area and started laughing all over again. Michonne started to clean up.

"Hey, you don't have to do that." Rick put a gentle hand on Michonne's shoulder. Her skin was cool and soft, but he could feel gooseflesh rise to his touch. He pulled away, the back of his fingers brushing against her dreadlocks. She ignored him, continuing to sweep the ruined food into the trash can.

"I know, right? Not as if I got to _eat_ any of that food. Well, except for a lonely, limp piece of canned asparagus." She smirked. She worked quickly-all that was left to do was put the dishes in the sink.

"I'll wash up later. Right now, we gotta get Carl something else to eat or else we'll never hear the end of it from Carol." Rick glanced over at the boy, who was currently rummaging through the cupboards.

"Found something!" Carl turned around with a huge smile and a bottle of peanut butter.

"That's from Carol's special stash, son. You can't eat it." Rick took the bottle away and made to put it back on the shelf.

"Hey Rick, just let him have it. He'll only take a few tablespoons, right?" Michonne winked conspiratorially at the boy, who nodded enthusiastically. He grabbed the bottle from his father's hands and made his way out of the kitchen to his room.

"Don't forget to bring it back down!" Rick yelled after him. Carl's reply was muffled by a full mouth.

"Let's just sit for a while. I can finish up in a little bit." Rick motioned to the sofa. With the living room to themselves, he suddenly just wanted to spend time with _her_ , not with chores. Michonne nodded and sat down. She traced the seams of the cushions with a long, graceful finger.

Rick sat on the floor facing the window. It was already dark outside, but he could just make out the moon and some stars peeking from between the trees. He could feel the warmth emanating from Michonne's legs even though they weren't touching. He had an urge to lean against her, but didn't. _What the heck's goin' on with me_? he thought, trying to focus on the sky. Ever since the episode with the tree a few days ago, he felt restless around her, as if touching her would somehow settle his nerves.

Michonne thought that maybe her fingers had their own agenda, because they roamed toward Rick's thick brown curls without her permission. Maybe she would just touch them lightly, too lightly for him to really notice. She felt a bit nervous, but didn't stop herself. She hovered her fingers there, just above the crown of his head. Just then, Rick adjusted his position, sitting up so he could see the moon better, and Michonne's hand reached its destination.

She thought Rick would turn or pull away, but he didn't.

"Ya know, Michonne, after such a stressful dinner, I could really use a head-rub." Rick tried to keep his voice light in spite of the butterflies in his stomach. His thoughts raced. _Am I out of my mind? There's no way in hell she's gonna rub my head!_

Michonne didn't reply. Rather, she stroked Rick's curls gently. He let out a generous sigh of relief and contentment.

"Well, sheriff," she said in a soft voice, "you sure as hell aren't a chef, but you're so good at other things that it doesn't matter." She kept stroking as Rick leaned into her hand, and finally, against her leg.

They stayed that way for a good long while.

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 **A/N: Well hello again darlings, I couldn't resist. I realized I wanted to create a "family" scene for Richonne. I really liked the scene back when they were settled into life at the prison, and Rick, Michonne and Carl met by the gate right after Michonne returned from an excursion with her horse. I tried to create a similar feel for an episode in Alexandria. Maybe I'll have more for this "fire department" theme soon...I hope you enjoy, my fanfiction friends! And review, cause I think I might be a junkie for 'em.**


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N: Hello there lovelies! Thank you for your comments, it's great to hear what you think. I wanted to try something a little different here with the style—let me know whether you liked it, yeah? Also, I'm going for a slow burn here…pun intended. When will that dang fire department actually show up? Reviews, as always, are manna from the heavens!**

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Carl was curious about the situation between his dad and Michonne.

Okay, no one would believe it, but a teen-aged boy could indeed pick up on the signals, loud as the beeps of a submarine's Morse code message. The eye-contact. The closeness. The witty banter. The time spent together.

There was _definitely_ something going on between Rick and Michonne.

But Carl, being Carl, decided to let it simmer. He wouldn't pay too much attention to it until it was obvious to everyone. Glenn and Maggie weren't saying anything, and neither were Carol and Daryl. They were the ones he trusted, the ones with whom he'd formed the strongest bond. So he just trusted that nothing critical was happening.

Ever since they'd settled in Alexandria, Carl was happy to roam around, hanging out with his new friends, and dealing with walkers only when absolutely necessary. He'd much prefer to read his treasured comic books and shoot the breeze. There had been talk about a school, but since it was summertime, nothing had really been done yet.

And it was on one of these summer afternoons, just on the cusp of evening, that Michonne decided to go for a little swim in the Alexandria pond.

Really, the pond wasn't for swimming. And in truth, Michonne did not start off with the intention of swimming. It was much more of an unintended consequence of meeting Rick on one of her somewhat unnecessary neighborhood patrols.

Carl observed the events from his perch in the unfinished attic of the house not too far from the pond. It played out like an awkward romantic comedy.

 **Rick** :(Runs fingers through his hair as he walks up) Hey Michonne, how's the patrol going?

 **Michonne:** (Smiles, puts down the box she's been carrying) Yeah, everything's fine. Pretty uneventful. Daryl gave me this box to take over to the clinic. He found some medicine on his run with Rosita.

 **Rick:** Do you want me to take it over? Save you the trip? (He makes to pick the box up from the ground) Woah, that's pretty heavy.

 **Michonne:** It's not that bad, don't worry, sheriff. I need to talk to Tara anyways. Jessie told me that Pete said Tara'd probably be ready to leave in a few days.

 **Rick:** Oh, okay. (Puts the box down and leans a fraction of an inch closer to Michonne) Hmmm. What's that smell? Is it lavender?

 **Michonne** : (Looks down, perhaps self-consciously) Ahh, yeah. I mix it with coconut oil and baking soda for deodorant, or just with coconut oil for my hair. Makes a world of difference, makes me feel a little more human. (She looks over the pond, and then at the box.) Okay, well, I gotta take this over to the clinic now. I'll see you later?

 **Rick:** (Smiling at Michonne) Let me help you pick it up at least.

(Michonne and Rick reach for the box at the same time, bumping heads.)

 **Michonne:** Ow, Rick. Watch it!

 **Rick:** Ouch, yeah, sorry. (Picks the box up and hands it to Michonne)

 **Michonne:** Thanks. (Starts to walk away, leaving Rick standing by the pond) See you at dinner.

 _Nothing too eventful there_ , thinks Carl. _Wait, hold up. They're still talking._

 **Rick:** (Runs up) Hey wait, these bandages fell out the box. Wouldn't want 'em to go to waste. And Michonne, you want to meet up before dinner? Our shifts are almost over, we could just sit by the pond? (He stands, hands in his pockets, crooked smile on his face)

 **Michonne:** (Looks back, eyebrows raised a bit) Umm, yeah, sure. That sounds nice, Rick.

 _BINGO_ , Carl thinks. _They are never gonna live this down. Not if I have anything to do with it. They are so gonna get it!_ Carl laughs to himself. He's actually really happy, because Michonne is his favorite person, after Judith. Carl thinks it's time to head down to the house to see about dinner.

He takes his time, because he's secretly hoping something else will happen. His dad is still standing by the pond, dawdling, looking out toward the fences. Michonne must have had a really quick meeting with Tara, because she comes striding down the street only a few minutes later. To avoid being seen, Carl hides behind the bushes across the way.

 **Michonne:** Hey. Tara was asleep, and Pete said she'd be good to go in a few days. So we just gonna sit here and gaze over the pond?

 **Rick:** (Turns and smiles at Michonne) Yep, unless you have some other ideas?

 **Michonne:** Well, no. Just thinking it might be nice to get home and have a shower before dinner. Been hot today. (Pulls out a kerchief and pats forehead and neck as Rick observes) I could really do with some iced tea. You think Carol might have made any? Do we even have any tea?

 **Rick:** No idea. But we could go swimming.

 **Michonne:** (Raises eyebrows at Rick) Swimming? In this pond? Are you crazy?

 **Rick:** (Laughs) No, and no. I was just kidding. (Slides a little closer to Michonne) There might be strange zombie fish in there. Don't want to chance it.

 **Michonne:** (Folds arms across chest) Okay. I thought you were serious. And I was gonna seriously tell you that you best not try anything. I can smell a joker a mile away (Turns to look at the pond).

 **Rick:** (Stretches arms up, left arm stealthily sliding around Michonne's shoulder, not touching yet) Ahh, well, just when I thought I could fool you.

Carl, still observing this bizarre turn of events, tries really hard to muffle the giggles that are about to escape. He covers his mouth and holds his stomach, trying not to fall over backwards. His dad and Michonne are ridiculous. Well at least his dad is ridiculous, and Michonne's about to put a hurting on him for what Carl can see Rick's about to do. _No way_ , Carl thought, _Dad's gonna get it for sure_.

You had to see the events of the next two minutes to believe they actually happened. And Carl witnessed, yes he did.

Quick as lightning, Rick grabbed Michonne's shoulders with his left hand, and her legs with his right. Michonne squealed, well, actually yelled in protest.

 **Michonne:** (Squirming, kicking and beating on Rick) What the hell Rick? Don't you _dare_ throw me in that pond! I swear there will be blood, Rick. And a beating. And wai-

Carl watched with fascination as Rick unceremoniously walked right into the pond, Michonne still putting up a fight. She managed to kick her legs free from his arms, so that he only had a grip on her waist. But the grip was apparently not strong enough, because Michonne broke free, slipping into the water, which came to her ankles. She glared at Rick for a moment. But Carl knew that it only took a moment for Michonne to think.

And then she laughed. Michonne laughed loud and clear, her beautiful face made even more radiant by humor. And then she charged.

Rick was taken off guard. Michonne tackled him, sending him to his knees, then his belly. He spluttered and coughed as Michonne scooped handfuls of water up and dumped them on his head. Both of them were dripping wet, but Michonne was winning. At this point, Carl ran, screeching with laughter, to the house.

"Uncle, I call uncle!" Rick slapped the water with an open palm, as if he were a wrestler on a mat.

"You sure 'bout that, sheriff? I think you might need a little more of a lesson-" at this, Rick slid deeper into the pond, pulling Michonne with him. "You _bastard_ ," Michonne reprimanded him, "You're gonna get my hair wet and muddy. And that is no joke." But her eyes were soft, and a smile still played on her lips. Rick's blue-grey eyes settled on Michonne, her face dripping with water, glistening in the red sunset.

The air changed. Goosebumps rose on their skin, and it wasn't just from the cool and welcome breeze. Where their grasp on one another had been rough playful before, it suddenly became denser and softer, like a blanket. Rick pulled Michonne closer.

"I'm cold," he said. He was lying. But Michonne knew it.

"Actually, I think you're burning up, sheriff." She chuckled to herself before she continued, "I'ma definitely gonna call the fire department. They're gonna come with their hoses and cool you off."

"But what if I don't want to cool down?" Rick looked into Michonne's eyes for the first time. They were deep brown pools that drew him closer. Close enough that he wanted to put his forehead to hers. Close enough that she could smell his woodsy scent, and it mingled with her lavender. Maybe too close. Michonne felt like she didn't have enough air to breathe-that every inhale was a bit of Rick's exhale. But her eyes didn't falter. Rather, she forced herself to hold Rick's gaze so that he wouldn't do what she thought he was about to do.

Not that she didn't want it, no. Michonne wanted Rick to take charge of the moment, because it seemed that he always deferred to her eventually. He took her word seriously, paid attention to her voice, her actions, her body language in a way that no person, especially not a white man, ever had. And that in and of itself was so attractive. Yet she didn't want to be in control. And so she held his eyes, hoping he would for once do what _he_ wanted.

Rick allowed his eyes to drop to Michonne's lips, and then further down. He didn't want to kiss her yet. That would be too easy. He wanted to drag things out, now that they had each other wrapped up, resting on the shallows of the pond. And so, much like a cat, he let his head coast along her cheek, past her ear, and down her neck, until his nose rested in the divot between her collarbones. His long eyelashes flicked her skin as he pressed closer, inhaling all that was good in his world-the traces of sunshine, wind, flowers.

"What if all I want is you?" Rick murmured into her skin, hot breath eliciting more goosebumps. Michonne could barely hear his words, but she could feel his lips. She sighed and waited patiently for him to say them again.


End file.
